Prophecy

 

Fish boat sail,

Tiny and square

In year of ox,

Won’t do.

Cart of black ocean

Will take you beyond mackerel,

Even mackerel of the bravest dead

Before you.

Father’s stone

Will turn to face

This exodus

In winter.

 

 

The Call

 

Oil for New England light

Trapped in bellies of whales.

Tidy-bearded men,

Whalers of light.

 

Manjiro.

Prepare.

For stars.

 

 

November 21, 1841     The Polynesian

 

Captain William H. Whitfield of the whaler John Howland rescued five youth stranded on a rock-hedged island in the East. Upon seeing the divine whaler, one of the youth, named Manjiro, tied his own tattered clothing to a void of driftwood and disturbed the air until seen. He then dove past the treacherous rocks and swam to his rescuers. It is yet unknown from where these starved souls hail since they understand merely a thimbleful of English. We do know, however, that God is God and His manner is to bring the outermost fold into His bosom. We are certain that these five will become seekers of His delight.

 

 

Prayer

 

Water

go back

 

Tell mother

I’m alive

 

Brush

her heels

 

Cradle fish

for her plate

 

Robe the shore

with my calling

 

Make me alive

without anger.

 

 

Manifest Destiny

 

What a century

You’ve chosen.

No witch trials,

Except that Lizzie,

The swinger.

Patents fly:

Toilet paper, safety pins.

Morse and his code.

Typewriters, can openers,

The revolving door.

We ram shores

Until they treaty.

Negroes leave the auction,

Try their hands at freedom.

New world again.

And again.

All this,

As we pan for our right

To live as kings.

 

 

Nigger Heaven

 

Have him join the Negroes, William.

Up in the balcony.

 

Welcome to the balcony, John.

Welcome.

 

Closer to heaven up here, John.

Closer.

 

For them God bends His back, William.

Down in the balcony.

 

God of mine sits high, John.

God of yours does too.

 

He one in the same, John.

One in the same.

 

It’s in Him to do it, William.

There, in the balcony.

 

Next Sunday ‘til the last, William.

Up in God’s balcony.

 

These hymns don’t come easy, John.

Their organ’s mighty proud.

 

Sing what you can, John.

Up here with us, sing loud.

 

 

Fairhaven

 

Earth again.

Its west.

Its east.

Round again.

Flat plate of ocean.

Cracked

Again.

Buttons and slaves

Spellers and milk.

Ciphered and wrong

Again.

 

 

The Call

 

Sons of New England, appraise John Mung.

 

Feed him Nantucket dumplings, fetch the nestling dolls of hospitality.

 

He will judge a nation by us.

 

Fisherman’s blood dreams through him.

 

Discovery – his industry, same as ours.

 

Open your cowsheds, the church doors.

 

Show him our advantage.

 

 

Tune

 

Shaker John,

Bamboo spine,

Copper stars,

Hammered time.

Seeker John,

Crowded boy,

One-room school,

One-roomed joy.

Savior John,

Clapboard soul,

Ripened boy,

Empty bowl.

Simple John,

Fill your head,

Claim a world,

No,

Worlds instead.